PAPA was the first to speak. The young lady went on hugging at Bruno,
and taking no notice of any of us. Papa looked very grave. I think he
thought it rather rude of her, even if she was so pleased to find her
dog again, for she might have seen how well he had been taken care of,
and what a beautiful new collar he had. Papa waited a minute or two, and
then he said, rather grandly, you know----
"Excuse me, madam, for interrupting you. I should be glad of some
explanation about the dog. Is he your dog?"
"_My_ dog," said the girl, half sitting up and shaking her hair back. It
had got messy with all her hugging at Bruno. "I should rather think so.
I have nothing to explain. What do you mean?"
"I beg your pardon," said papa. "I have had the dog nearly a month, and
during that time I have advertised him regularly. I have sent all about
the neighbourhood to ask if any one had lost a dog, and altogether I
have had a good deal of trouble and expense."
The girl got rather red.
"I see," she said, "I didn't think of that. I was only so glad to find
my dear dog. I'm very much obliged to you, I'm sure. I can tell you why
your advertisements were never answered. We've been away for nearly a
month, and the people here whom we lodge with have been very stupid
about it. They missed Rollo as soon as we left, and took for granted
we'd taken him with us after all. And we never knew till we came back
two days ago that he was lost. He was lonely, you see, when he found I
had gone, and I suppose he set out to look for me."
"Yes," said papa. "Then I suppose there is nothing more to be said. My
children must bear the disappointment; they had naturally come to look
upon him as their own."
Persis and I had turned away, so she couldn't see we were crying. We
didn't want her to see; we didn't like her.
"I--I can't offer to pay you anything of what he's cost you, I suppose?"
she said, getting redder still.
"Certainly not. Good-morning," and papa lifted his hat. And we all went
off.
"My poor Persis and Archie," said papa very kindly. And when he said
that, we felt as if we couldn't keep it in any longer. We both burst
out crying--loud.
Just then we heard steps behind us. It was the girl running with the
lovely new collar in her hand.
"This at least is yours," she said, holding it out to papa. He smiled a
little.
"You will please us by keeping it," he said. "It fits him; you can
easily have the engraving altered."
"Thank you," she said; "thank you very much. I am very sorry indeed for
the children," she went on, for she couldn't have helped seeing how we
were crying; and a nice look came into her eyes, which made us like her
better. She was very pretty. I forget if I said so. "Shall I--shall I
bring Rollo some day to see you?"
But we shook our heads.
"No, thank you," Persis managed to get out.
"Ah," she said, "I'm sorry; but I understand."
And then we liked her _quite_.
We trotted on beside papa, none of us speaking. At last Persis touched
me.
"Archie," she said, "I think it's for a punishment. May I tell?"
I just nodded my head.
Then Persis went close up to papa and put her hand through his arm.
"Papa," she said, "we've something to tell you. We're not crying _only_
for Bruno, we're unhappy because--because we've not been good."
"We've not been _honest_," I said. That word "honest" had been sticking
in my throat ever since the day papa had said it when he was speaking
about it being right to advertise the dog. And now, when _I_ said it, I
felt as if I was going to choke. It felt so awful, you don't know.
Papa looked very grave, but he held out his other hand to me, and I was
glad of that.
"Tell me all about it," he said; and then we told him everything--all
about how in our real hearts we had known, or _almost_ known, where
Bruno came from, but how we had tried to pretend to ourselves--separately,
I mean; Persis to herself and me to myself--that we didn't know, so that
we wouldn't even say it to each other, and how it did seem now as if
this had come for a punishment.
Papa was very kind, so kind that we went on to tell him how great the
temptation had been, how _dreadfully_ we had longed for a dog, and how
it had seemed that our only chance of ever having one would be one
coming of itself, like Bruno had done.
"Why did you not tell mamma or me how very, very much you wished for
one?" asked papa. "It would have been better than bottling it up so
between yourselves. You have made yourselves think you wished for one
even more than you really did."
But we couldn't quite agree with that.
"We did speak of it sometimes," we said, "but we knew mamma didn't want
to have a dog--not in London. And----" but there we stopped. We really
didn't quite know why we hadn't said more about it. I think children
often keep their fancies to themselves without quite knowing why. But we
didn't think it had been a fancy only, after all. "We _couldn't_ have
loved him more," we said. "The real of it turned out quite as nice as
the fancy."
Then papa spoke to us very seriously. I daresay you can tell of
yourselves--all of you who have nice fathers and mothers--the sort of
way he spoke. About being quite, _quite_ true and honest even in
thinkings, and about how dangerous it is to try to deceive _ourselves_,
for that the self we try to deceive is the best part of us, the voice of
God in our hearts, and it can never _really_ be deceived, only, if we
don't listen to it, after a while we can't hear it any more.
"Yes," said Persis, "I did know I was shamming to my good self all the
time."
Then she cried a little more--and I did too. And papa kissed us, and we
went on home, rather sadly of course, but still feeling, in a good way,
glad too. And papa told it all to mamma, so that she kissed us _very_
nicely when she said good-night, and called us her poor darlings.
You may think that is the end. But it isn't. The end is lovely.
About a week after that day, one afternoon we heard that a lady and
gentleman with a big dog had come to call on papa and mamma. We were
afraid it was Bruno, and the people belonging to him, and as we didn't
want to see him again, we were just going to run out and hide in the
garden for fear we should be sent for, when papa himself came calling
for us.
"Persis. Archie." And we dared not run away.
"Papa," we said, "we don't want to come if it is Bruno."
"It is Bruno," he said; "but, all the same, you must come. You must
trust me."
We had to go into the drawing-room. There was the girl talking quite
nicely to mamma, and a gentleman with her, who we saw was her brother,
and--there was Bruno! We tried not to look at him, while we shook hands.
How silly we were!
"Children," said papa, "this young lady has come to say something which
will please you very much. She finds, quite unexpectedly, that she
cannot keep her dog, as she and Mr. Riverton"--papa made a little bow to
the brother--"are going abroad. Miss Riverton wants a good home for her
dog. Do you think we could promise him one?"
We could scarcely speak. It seemed too good to be true.
"Would he be ours for always?" I asked, and the young lady said, "Yes,
of course. I wouldn't want to give you the pain of parting with him
_twice_, you poor children."
"And mamma says we may?" we asked. And mamma nodded. Then Persis had a
nice thought.
"Aren't you very sorry?" she asked the girl. But _she_ only smiled. "No,
I can't say I am," she said, "because I know he'll be very happy with
you. And though I love him very much, I love my brother better, and I'm
_very_ glad to go with him instead of being left behind, even with
Rollo."
We _quite_ liked her then. Her face was so nice. And she kissed us when
she went away. Persis liked it, and I didn't mind.
Our Bruno has been with us ever since, and we love him more and more. He
is quite happy, even in London, for he has a nice home in the stables,
and we take him a walk every day, and he comes very often into the
house. And in the country, where we now go for much longer every year,
he is always with us.
The girl writes to us sometimes, and we answer, and tell her about
Bruno. She is coming to see him next year, when they come back to
England. She calls him "Rollo," but we like "Bruno" best, and _he_
doesn't mind, the dear old fellow.
THE BLUE DWARFS:
AN ADVENTURE IN THÜRINGEN
"And then on the top of the Caldon Low
There was no one left but me."
MARY HOWITT.
"I LIKED the blue dwarfs the best--far, far the best of anything," said
Olive.
"'The blue dwarfs!'" repeated Rex. "What _do_ you mean? Why can't you
say what you mean plainly? Girls have such a stupid way of talking!"
"What can be plainer than _the blue dwarfs_?" said Olive rather
snappishly, though, it must be allowed, with some reason. "We were
talking about the things we liked best at the china place. _You_ said
the stags' heads and the inkstands, and _I_ say the blue dwarfs."
"But I didn't see any dwarfs," persisted Rex.
"Well, I can't help it if you didn't. You had just as much chance of
seeing them as I had. They were in a corner by themselves--little
figures about two inches high, all with blue coats on. There were about
twelve of them, all different, but all little dwarfs or gnomes. One was
sitting on a barrel, one was turning head-over-heels, one was cuddling
his knees--all funny ways like that. Oh, they were lovely!"
"I wish I had seen them better," said Rex regretfully. "I do remember
seeing a tray full of little blue-looking dolls, but I didn't notice
what they were."
Olive did not at once answer. Her eyes were fixed on something she saw
passing before the window. It was a very, very little man. He was not
exactly hump-backed, but his figure was somewhat deformed, and he was so
small that but for the sight of his rather wizened old face one could
hardly have believed he was a full-grown man. His eyes were bright and
beady-looking, like those of a good-natured little weasel, if there be
such a thing, and his face lighted up with a smile as he caught sight of
the two, to him, strange-looking children at the open window of the
little village inn.
"Guten Tag," he said, nodding to them; and "Guten Tag," replied the
children, as they had learnt to do by this time to everybody they met.
For in these remote villages it would be thought the greatest breach of
courtesy to pass any one without this friendly greeting.
Rex drew a long breath when the dwarf had passed.
"Olive----" he began, but Olive interrupted him.
"Rex," she said eagerly, "that's _exactly_ like them--like the blue
dwarfs, I mean. Only, of course, their faces were prettier--nice little
china faces, rather crumply looking, but quite nice; and then their
coats were such a pretty nice blue. I think," she went on
consideringly--"I think, if I had that little man and washed his face
_very_ well, and got him a bright blue coat, he would look just like one
of the blue dwarfs grown big."
Rex looked at Olive with a queer expression.
"Olive," he said in rather an awe-struck tone; "Olive, do you think
perhaps they're _real_? Do you think perhaps somewhere in this
country--in those queer dark woods, perhaps--that there are real blue
dwarfs, and that somebody must have seen them and made the little china
ones like them? Perhaps," and his voice dropped and grew still more
solemn; "_perhaps_, Olive, that little man's one of them, and they may
have to take off their blue coats when they're walking about. Do you
know, I think it's a little, just a very little frightening? Don't you,
Olive?"
"No, of course I don't," said Olive, and, to do her justice, her rather
sharp answer was meant as much to reassure her little brother as to
express any feeling of impatience. Rex was quite a little fellow, only
eight, and Olive, who was nearly twelve, remembered, that when she was
as little as that, she used sometimes to feel frightened about things
which she now couldn't see anything the least frightening in. And she
remembered how once or twice some of her big cousins had laughed at her,
and amused themselves by telling her all sorts of nonsense, which still
seemed terrible to her when she was alone in her room in the dark at
night. "Of course there's nothing frightening in it," she said. "It
would be rather a funny idea, I think. Of course it can't be, you know,
Rex. There are no dwarfs, and gnomes, and fairies now."
"But that little man was a dwarf," said Rex.
"Yes, but a dwarf needn't be a fairy sort of person," explained Olive.
"He's just a common little man, only he's never grown as big as other
people. Perhaps he had a bad fall when he was a baby--that might stop
his growing."
"Would it?" said Rex. "I didn't know that. I hope I hadn't a bad fall
when I was a baby. Everybody says I'm very small for my age." And Rex
looked with concern at his short but sturdy legs.
Olive laughed outright.
"Oh, Rex, what a funny boy you are! No, certainly, you are not a dwarf.
You're as straight and strong as you can be."
"Well, but," said Rex, returning to the first subject, "I do think it's
very queer about that little dwarf man coming up the street just as you
were telling me about the blue dwarfs. And he _did_ look at us in a
funny way, Olive, whatever you say, just as if he had heard what we were
talking about."
"All the people look at us in a funny way here," said Olive. "We must
look very queer to them. Your sailor suit, Rex, and my 'Bolero' hat must
look to them quite as queer as the women's purple skirts, with bright
green aprons, look to us."
"Or the bullock-carts," said Rex. "Do you remember how queer we thought
them at first? _Now_ we've got quite used to seeing queer things,
haven't we, Olive? Oh! now do look there--at the top of the
street--there, Olive, did you _ever_ see such a load as that woman is
carrying in the basket on her back? Why, it's as big as a house!"
He seemed to have forgotten about the dwarfs, and Olive was rather glad
of it. These two children were travelling with their uncle and aunt in a
rather out-of-the-way part of Germany. Out-of-the-way, that is to say,
to most of the regular summer tourists from other countries, who prefer
going where they are more sure of finding the comforts and luxuries they
are accustomed to at home. But it was by no means out-of-the-way in the
sense of being dull or deserted. It is a very busy part of the world
indeed. You would be amazed if I were to tell you some of the beautiful
things that are made in these bare homely little German cottages. For
all about in the neighbourhood there are great manufactories and
warehouses for china and glass, and many other things; and some parts of
the work are done by the people at home in their own houses. The morning
of the day of which I am telling you had been spent by the children and
their friends in visiting a very large china manufactory, and their
heads were full of the pretty and wonderful things they had seen.
And now they were waiting in the best parlour of the village inn while
their uncle arranged about a carriage to take them all on to the small
town where they were to stay a few days. Their aunt was tired, and was
resting a little on the sofa, and they had planted themselves on the
broad window-sill, and were looking out with amusement at all that
passed.
"What have you two been chattering about all this time?" said their
aunt, suddenly looking up. "I think I must have been asleep a little,
but I have heard your voices going on like two birds twittering."
"Have we disturbed you, Auntie?" asked Olive, with concern.
"Oh no, not a bit; but come here and tell me what you have been talking
about."
Instantly Rex's mind went back to the dwarfs.
"Auntie," he said seriously, "perhaps you can tell me better than Olive
can. Are there really countries of dwarfs, and are they a kind of
fairies, Auntie?"
Auntie looked rather puzzled.
"Dwarfs, Rex?" she said; "countries of dwarfs? How do you mean?"
Olive hastened to explain. Auntie was very much amused.
"Certainly," she said, "we have already seen so many strange things in
our travels that it is better not to be too sure what we may not see.
But any way, Rex, you may be quite easy in your mind, that if ever you
come across any of the dwarfs, you will find them very good-natured and
amiable, only you must be very respectful--always say 'Sir,' or 'My
lord,' or something like that to them, and bow a great deal. And you
must never seem to think anything they do the least odd, not even if
they propose to you to walk on your head, or to eat roast fir-cones for
dinner, for instance."
Auntie was quite young--not so very much older than Olive--and very
merry. Olive's rather "grown-up" tones and manners used sometimes to
tempt her to make fun of the little girl, which, to tell the truth,
Olive did not always take quite in good part. And it must for Olive be
allowed, that Auntie did sometimes allow her spirits and love of fun to
run away with her a little too far, just like pretty unruly ponies,
excited by the fresh air and sunshine, who toss their heads and gallop
off. It is great fun at first and very nice to see, but one is sometimes
afraid they may do some mischief on the way--without meaning it, of
course; and, besides, it is not always so easy to pull them up as it was
to start them.
Just as Auntie finished speaking the door opened and their uncle came
in. He was Auntie's elder brother--a good deal older--and very kind and
sensible. At once all thoughts of the dwarfs or what Auntie had been
saying danced out of Rex's curly head. Like a true boy he flew off to
his uncle, besieging him with questions as to what sort of a carriage
they were to go on in--_was_ it an ox-cart; oh, mightn't they _for once_
go in an ox-cart? and might he--oh, might he sit beside the driver in
front?
His uncle laughed and replied to his questions, but Olive stayed beside
the sofa, staring gravely at her aunt.
"Auntie," she said, "you're not _in earnest_, are you, about there being
really a country of dwarfs?"
Olive was twelve. Perhaps you will think her very silly to have imagined
for a moment that her aunt's joke could be anything but a joke,
especially as she had been so sensible about not letting Rex get
anything into his head which could frighten him. But I am not sure that
she was so very silly after all. She had read in her geography about the
Lapps and Finns, the tiny little men of the north, whom one might very
well describe as dwarfs; there might be dwarfs in these strange
Thüringian forests, which were little spoken of in geography books;
Auntie knew more of such things than she did, for she had travelled in
this country before. Then with her own eyes Olive had seen a dwarf, and
though she had said to Rex that he was just an odd dwarf by himself as
it were, not one of a race, how could she tell but what he might be one
of a number of such queer little people? And even the blue dwarfs
themselves--the little figures in the china manufactory--rather went to
prove it than not.
"They may have taken the idea of dwarfs from the real ones, as Rex
said," thought Olive. "Any way I shall look well about me if we go
through any of these forests again. They must live in the forests, for
Auntie said they eat roast fir-cones for dinner."
All these thoughts were crowding through her mind as she stared up into
Auntie's face and asked solemnly--
"Auntie, were you in earnest?"
Auntie's blue eyes sparkled.
"In earnest, Olive?" she said. "Of course! Why shouldn't I be in
earnest? But come, quick, we must get our things together. Your uncle
must have got a carriage."
"Yes," said he, "I have. _Not_ an ox-cart, Rex. I'm sorry for your sake,
but for no one else's; for I don't think there would be much left of us
by the end of the journey if we were to be jogged along the forest roads
in an ox-cart. No! I have got quite a respectable vehicle; but we must
stop an hour or two on the way, to rest the horses and give them a feed,
otherwise we could not get through to-night."
"Where shall we stop?" said Auntie, as with the bundles of shawls and
bags they followed the children's uncle to the door.
"There is a little place in the forest, where they can look after the
horses," said he; "and I daresay we can get some coffee there for
ourselves, if we want it. It is a pretty little nook. I remember it long
ago, and I shall be glad to see it again."
Olive had pricked up her ears. "A little place in the forest!" she said
to herself; "that may be near where the dwarfs live: it is most likely
not far from here, because of the one we saw." She would have liked to
ask her uncle about it, but something in the look of her aunt's eyes
kept her from doing so.
"Perhaps she _was_ joking," thought Olive to herself. "But perhaps she
doesn't know; _she_ didn't see the real dwarf. It would be rather nice
if I did find them, _then_ Auntie couldn't laugh at me any more."
They were soon comfortably settled in the carriage, and set off. The
first part of the drive was not particularly interesting; and it was so
hot, though already afternoon, that they were all--Olive especially, you
may be sure--delighted to exchange the open country for the pleasant
shade of a grand pine forest, through which their road now lay.
"Is it a very large forest, Uncle?" said Olive.
"Yes, very large," he replied rather sleepily, to tell the truth; for
both he and Auntie had been nodding a little, and Rex had once or twice
been fairly asleep. But Olive's imagination was far too hard at work to
let her sleep.
"The largest in Europe?" she went on, without giving much thought to
poor Uncle's sleepiness.
"Oh yes, by far," he replied, for he had not heard clearly what she
said, and fancied it was "the largest hereabouts."
"Dear me!" thought Olive, looking round her with awe and satisfaction.
"If there are dwarfs anywhere, then it must be here."
And she was just beginning another. "And please, Uncle, is----?" when
her aunt looked up and said lazily--
"Oh, my dear child, do be quiet! Can't you go to sleep yourself a
little? We shall have more than enough of the forest before we are out
of it." Which offended Olive so much that she relapsed into silence.
Auntie was a truer prophet than she knew; for when they got to the
little hamlet in the wood, where they were to rest, something proved to
be wrong with one of the horse's shoes; _so_ wrong, indeed, that after a
prolonged examination, at which all the inhabitants turned out to
assist, it was decided that the horse must be re-shod before he could go
any farther; and this made it impossible for the party who had come in
the carriage to go any farther either. For the nearest smithy was two
miles off; the horse must be led there and back by the driver, which
would take at least two, if not three, hours. It was now past six, and
they had come barely half way. The driver shook his head, and said he
would not like to go on to the town till morning. The horse had pricked
his foot; it might cause inflammation to drive him farther without a
rest, and the carriage was far too heavy for the other horse alone,
which had suddenly struck the children's uncle as a brilliant idea.
"There would be no difficulty about the harnessing, any way," he said to
Auntie, laughing; "for all the vehicles hereabouts drawn by one horse
have the animal at one side of a pole, instead of between shafts."
But Auntie thought it better to give in.
"It really doesn't much matter," she said; "we can stay here well
enough. There are two bedrooms, and no doubt they can give us something
to eat; beer and sausages, and brown bread any way."
And so it was settled, greatly to Olive's satisfaction; it would give
her capital opportunities for a dwarf hunt! though as to this she kept
her own counsel.
The landlady of the little post-house where they had stopped was
accustomed to occasional visits of this kind from benighted or
distressed travellers. She thought nothing of turning her two daughters
out of their bedroom, which, it must be owned, was very clean, for
Auntie and Olive, and a second room on the ground-floor was prepared for
Rex and his uncle. She had coffee ready in five minutes, and promised
them a comfortable supper before bedtime. Altogether, everything seemed
very satisfactory, and when they felt a little refreshed, Auntie
proposed a walk--"a good long walk," she said, "would do us good. And
the landlady says we get out of the forest up there behind the house,
where the ground rises, and that there is a lovely view. It will be
rather a climb, but it isn't more than three-quarters of an hour from
here, and we have not walked all day."
Uncle thought it a good idea, and Rex was ready to start at once; but
Olive looked less pleased.
"Don't you want to come, Olive?" said Auntie. "Are you tired? You didn't
take a nap like the rest of us."
"I am a little tired," said Olive, which was true in one sense, though
not in another, for she was quite fit for a walk. It struck her that her
excuse was not quite an honest one, so she added, "If you don't mind, I
would rather stay about here. I don't mind being alone, and I have my
book. And I do so like the forest."
"Very well," said her uncle; "only don't lose yourself. She is perfectly
safe," he added, turning to her aunt; "there are neither wolves, nor
bears, nor robbers nowadays, in these peaceful forests."
So the three set off, leaving Olive to her own devices. She waited till
they were out of sight, then she made her preparations.
"I'd better take my purse," she said to herself, "in case I meet the
dwarfs. Auntie told me to be very polite, and perhaps they would like
some of these tiny pieces; they just look as if they were meant for
them." So she chose out a few one-pfennig copper coins, which are much
smaller than our farthings, and one or two silver pieces, worth about
twopence-halfpenny each, still smaller. Then she put in her pocket half
a slice of the brown bread they had had with their coffee, and arming
herself, more for appearance's-sake than anything else, with her parasol
and the book she had with her in her travelling bag, she set off on her
solitary ramble.
It was still hot--though the forest trees made a pleasant shade. Olive
walked some way, farther and farther, as far as she could make out, into
the heart of the forest, but in her inexperience she took no sort of
care to notice the way she went, or to make for herself any kind of
landmarks. She just wandered on and on, tempted first by some mysterious
little path, and then by another, her mind full of the idea of the
discoveries she was perhaps about to make. Now and then a squirrel
darted across from one tree to another, disappearing among the branches
almost before Olive could be sure she had seen it, or some wild wood
birds, less familiar to the little foreigner, would startle her with a
shrill, strange note. There were here and there lovely flowers growing
among the moss, and more than once she heard the sound of not far off
trickling water. It was all strangely beautiful, and she would greatly
have enjoyed and admired it had not her mind been so full of the queer
fascinating idea of the blue dwarfs.
At last--she had wandered about for some time--Olive began to feel
tired.
"I may as well sit down a little," she thought; "I have lots of time to
get back. This seems the very heart of the forest. They are just as
likely to be seen here as anywhere else."
So Olive ensconced herself in a comfortable corner, her back against the
root of a tree, which seemed hollowed out on purpose to serve as an
arm-chair. She thought at first she would read a little, but the light
was already slightly waning, and the tree shadows made it still fainter.
Besides, Olive had plenty to think of--she did not require any
amusement. Queer little noises now and then made themselves heard--once
or twice it really sounded as if small feet were pattering along, or as
if shrill little voices were laughing in the distance; and with each
sound, Olive's heart beat faster with excitement--not with fear.
"If I sit very still," she thought, "who knows what I may see? Of
course, it would be much nicer and prettier if the dwarfs were quite
tiny--not like the little man we saw in the street at that place--I
forget the name--for he was not pretty at all--but like the blue dwarfs
at the manufactory. But that, I suppose, is impossible, for they would
be really like fairies. But they might be something between: not so big
as the little man, and yet bigger than the blue dwarfs."
And then Olive grew a little confused in trying to settle in her mind
how big, or how small rather, it was possible or impossible for a nation
of dwarfs to be. She thought it over till she hardly seemed sure what
she was trying to decide. She kept saying to herself, "Any way, they
could not but be a good deal bigger than my thumb! What does that mean?
Perhaps it means more in German measures than in English, perhaps----"
[Illustration: THE BLUE DWARFS
"They were sliding down the branches of the tree in all directions." P.
195]
But what was that that suddenly hit her on the nose? Olive looked up,
a very little inclined to be offended; it is not a pleasant thing to be
hit on the nose; could it be Rex come behind her suddenly, and playing
her a trick? Just as she was thinking this, a second smart tap on the
nose startled her still more, and this time there was no mistake about
it; it came from above, and it was a fir-cone! Had it come of itself?
Somehow the words, "Roast fir-cones for dinner," kept running in her
head, and she took up the fir-cone in her fingers to examine it, but
quickly dropped it again, for it was as hot as a coal.
"It has a very roasty smell," thought Olive; "where can it have come
from?"
And hardly had she asked herself the question, when a sudden noise all
round her made her again look up. They were sliding down the branches of
the tree in all directions. At first, to her dazzled eyes, they seemed a
whole army, but as they touched the ground one by one, and she was able
to distinguish them better, she saw that after all there were not so
_very_ many. One, two, three, she began quickly counting to herself, not
aloud, of course--that would not have been polite--one, two, three, up
to twelve, then thirteen, fourteen, and so on up to--yes, there were
just twenty-four of them.
"Two of each," said Olive to herself; "a double set of the blue dwarfs."
For they were the blue dwarfs, and no mistake! Two of each, as Olive had
seen at once. And immediately they settled themselves in twos--two
squatted on the ground embracing their knees, two strode across a barrel
which they had somehow or other brought with them, two began turning
head-over-heels, two knelt down with their heads and queer little
grinning faces looking over their shoulders, twos and twos of them in
every funny position you could imagine, all arranged on the mossy ground
in front of where Olive sat, and all dressed in the same bright blue
coats as the toy dwarfs at the china manufactory.
Olive sat still and looked at them. Somehow she did not feel surprised.
"How big are they?" she said to herself. "Bigger than my thumb? Oh yes,
a good deal. I should think they are about as tall as my arm would be if
it was standing on the ground. I should think they would come up above
my knee. I should like to stand up and measure, but perhaps it is better
for me not to speak to them till they speak to me."
She had not long to wait. In another moment two little blue figures
separated themselves from the crowd, and made their way up to her. But
when they were close to her feet they gave a sudden jump in the air, and
came down, not on their feet, but on their heads! And then again some of
her aunt's words came back to her, "If they should ask you to stand on
your head, for instance."
"Dear me," thought Olive, "how did Auntie know so much about them? But I
do hope they won't ask me to stand on _my_ head."
Her fears were somewhat relieved when the dwarfs gave another spring and
came down this time in a respectable manner on their feet. Then, with a
good many bows and flourishes, they began a speech.
"We are afraid," said the first.
"That the fir-cones," said the second.
"Were rather underdone," finished up the first.
Olive really did not know what to say. She was dreadfully afraid that it
would seem so very rude of her not even to have _tasted_ the cones. But
naturally she had not had the slightest idea that they had been intended
for her to eat.
"I am very sorry," she said, "Mr. ----, sir! my lord! I beg your
pardon. I don't quite know what I should call you."
"With all respect," said the first.
"And considering the circumstances," went on the second.
Then, just as Olive supposed they were going to tell her their names,
they stopped short and looked at her.
"I beg your pardon," she began again, after waiting a minute or two to
see if they had nothing else to say; "I don't quite understand."
"Nor do we," they replied promptly, speaking for the first time both
together.
"Do you mean you don't know what _my_ name is?" said she. "It's Olive,
_Olive_!" for the dwarfs stood staring as if they had not heard her.
"OLIVE!" she repeated for the third time.
"Green?" asked the first.
"No!" said Olive. "Of course not! _Green_ is a very common name--at
least----"
"But you called us 'blue,'" said the second; and it really was a relief
to hear him finish a sentence comfortably by himself, only Olive felt
very puzzled by what he said.
"How do you know?" she said. "How could you tell I called you the blue
dwarfs?" and then another thought suddenly struck her. How very odd it
was that the dwarf spoke such good English! "I thought you were German,"
she said.
"How very amusing!" said the dwarfs, this time again speaking together.
Olive could not see that it was very amusing, but she was afraid of
saying so, for fear it should be rude.
"And about the fir-cones," went on the first dwarf. "It is distressing
to think they were so underdone. But we have come, all of us," waving
his hand in the direction of the others, "to invite you to supper in our
village. There you will find them done to perfection."
Olive felt more and more uncomfortable.
"You are very kind," she said. "I should like to come very much if it
isn't too far; but I am afraid I couldn't eat any supper. Indeed, I'm
not hungry." And then a bright thought struck her. "See here," she went
on, drawing the half slice of bread out of her pocket, "I had to put
this in my pocket, for I couldn't finish it at our afternoon coffee."
The two dwarfs came close and examined the piece of bread with the
greatest attention. They pinched and smelt it, and one of them put out
his queer little pointed tongue and licked it.
"Not good!" he said, looking up at Olive and rolling about his eyes in a
very queer way.
"I don't know," said Olive; "I don't think it can be bad. It is the
regular bread of the country. I should have thought you would be
accustomed to it, as you live here."
The two dwarfs took no notice of what she said, but suddenly turned
round, and standing with their backs to Olive called out shrilly, "Guten
Tag." Immediately all the other dwarfs replied in the same tone and the
same words, and to Olive's great surprise they all began to move towards
her, but without altering their attitudes--those on the barrel rolled
towards her without getting off it; the two who were hugging their knees
continued to hug them, while they came on by means of jerking
themselves; the turning head-over-heels ones span along like wheels, and
so on till the whole assemblage were at her feet. Then she saw unfolded
before her, hanging on the branches of the tree, a large mantle, just
the shape of her aunt's travelling dust-cloak, which she always spread
over Olive in a carriage, only, instead of being drab or fawn-coloured,
it was, like the dwarfs' jackets, bright blue. And without any one
telling her, Olive seemed to know of herself that she was to put it on.
She got up and reached the cloak easily; it seemed to put itself on, and
Olive felt very happy and triumphant as she said to herself, "Now I'm
really going to have some adventures."
The dwarfs marched--no! one cannot call it marching, for they had about
a dozen different ways of proceeding--they moved on, and Olive in the
middle, her blue cloak floating majestically on her shoulders. No one
spoke a word. It grew darker and darker among the trees, but Olive did
not feel frightened. On they went, till at last she saw twinkling before
them a very small but bright blue light. It looked scarcely larger than
the lamp of a glow-worm, but it shone out very distinct in the darkness.
Immediately they saw it the dwarfs set up a shout, and as it died away,
to Olive's surprise, they began to sing. And what do you think they
sang? Olive at first could hardly believe her ears as they listened to
the thoroughly English song of "Home, sweet Home." And the queerest
thing was that they sang it very prettily, and that it sounded exactly
like her aunt's voice! And though they were walking close beside her,
their voices when they left off singing did not so much seem to stop as
to move off, to die away into the distance, which struck Olive as very
odd.
They had now arrived at the trunk of a large tree, half way up which
hung the little lamp--at least Olive supposed it must be a lamp--from
which came the bright blue light.
"Here we are," said one of the dwarfs, she did not see which, "at the
entrance to our village." And thereupon all the dwarfs began climbing up
the tree, swarming about it like a hive of bees, till they got some way
up, when one after another they suddenly disappeared. Olive could see
all they did by the blue light. She was beginning to wonder if she would
be left standing there alone, when a shout made her look up, and she saw
two dwarfs standing on a branch holding a rope ladder, which they had
just thrown down, and making signs to her to mount up by it. It was
quite easy; up went Olive, step by step, and when she reached the place
where the two dwarfs were standing, she saw how it was that they had all
disappeared. The tree trunk was hollow, and there were steps cut in it
like a stair, down which the dwarfs signed to her that she was to go.
She did not need to be twice told, so eager was she to see what was to
come. The stair was rather difficult for her to get down without
falling, for the steps were too small, being intended for the dwarfs,
but Olive managed pretty well, only slipping now and then. The stair
seemed very long, and as she went farther it grew darker, till at last
it was quite dark; by which time, fortunately, however, she felt herself
again on level ground, and after waiting half a minute a door seemed to
open, and she found herself standing outside the tree stair, with the
prettiest sight before her eyes that she had ever seen or even imagined.
It was the dwarf village! Rows and rows of tiny houses--none of them
more than about twice as high as Olive herself, for that was quite big
enough for a dwarf cottage, each with a sweet little garden in front,
like what one sees in English villages, though the houses themselves
were like Swiss châlets. It was not dark down here, there was a soft
light about as bright as we have it at summer twilight; and besides
this, each little house had a twinkling blue light hanging above the
front door, like a sign-post. And at the door of each cottage stood one
of the dwarfs, with a little dwarf wife beside him; only, instead of
blue, each little woman was dressed in brown, so that they were rather
less showy than their husbands. They all began bowing as Olive appeared,
and all the little women curtseying, and Olive seemed to understand,
without being told, that she was to walk up the village street to see
all there was to be seen. So on she marched, her blue cloak floating
about her, so that sometimes it reached the roofs of the houses on each
side at the same time.
Olive felt herself rather clumsy. Her feet, which in general she was
accustomed to consider rather neat, and by no means too large for her
age, seemed such great awkward things. If she had put one of them in at
the window of a dwarf house, it would have knocked everything out of its
place.
"Dear me!" thought Olive, "I had no idea _I_ could seem clumsy! I feel
like a great ploughman. I wish I were not so big."
"Yes," said a voice beside her, "it has its disadvantages;" and Olive,
looking down to see who spoke--she had to look down for
everything--caught sight of one of the two dwarfs with whom she had
first spoken. She felt a little ruffled. She did not like this trick of
the dwarf hearing what she thought before she said it.
"Everything has its disadvantages," she replied. "Don't you find
yourself very inconveniently small when you are up in _our_ world?"
"Exactly so," said the dwarf; but he did not seem the least put out.
"They are certainly very good-tempered," said Olive to herself. Then
suddenly a thought struck her.
"Your village is very neat and pretty," she said; "though, perhaps--I
don't mean to be rude, not on any account----"
"No," interrupted the dwarf; "Auntie told you on no account to be rude."
"Auntie!" repeated Olive, in astonishment; "she is not _your_ auntie!"
"On no account," said the dwarf, in the same calm tone, but without
seeming to take in that Olive meant to reprove him.
"It's no use trying to make them understand," said Olive to herself.
"Not the least," said the dwarf; at which Olive felt so provoked that
she could have stamped her feet with irritation. But as _thinking_
crossly seemed in this country to be quite as bad as _speaking_ crossly,
she had to try to swallow down her vexation as well as she could.
"I was going to say," she went on quietly, "that to my taste the
village would be prettier if there was a little variety. Not all the
houses just the same, you know. And all of _you_ are so like each other,
and all your little brown wives too. Are there no _children_ dwarfs?"
"Doubtless. Any quantity," was the answer.
"Then where are they all?" said Olive. "Are they all asleep?" She put
the last question rather sarcastically, but the sarcasm seemed to be
lost on the little man.
"Yes, all asleep," he replied; "all asleep, and dreaming. Children are
very fond of dreaming," he went on, looking up at Olive with such a
queer expression, and such a queer tone in his voice too, that Olive got
a queer feeling herself, as if he meant more than his words actually
said. Could he mean to hint that _she_ was dreaming? But a remark from
the dwarf distracted her thoughts.
"Supper is ready," he said. "They are all waiting." And turning round,
Olive saw before her a cottage a good deal larger than the others; in
fact, it was almost high enough for her, with considerable stooping, to
get in at the door. And through the windows she saw a long table neatly
covered with a bright blue tablecloth, and spread with numbers of tiny
plates, and beside each plate a knife and fork and a little blue glass
cup. Two great dishes stood on the table, one at each end. Steam was
rising from each, and a delicious smell came out through the open
windows.
"I did not know I was so hungry," thought Olive; "but I do _hope_ it
isn't fir-cones."
"Yes," said the dwarf; "they'll be better done this time."
Then he gave a sort of sharp, sudden cry or whistle, and immediately all
the dwarfs of the village appeared as if by magic, and began hurrying
into the house, but as soon as they were in the middle of the passage
they fell back at each side, leaving a clear space in the middle.
"For you," said the first dwarf, bowing politely.
"Do you always have supper here altogether like that?" said Olive. "How
funny!"
"Not at all," said the dwarf; "it's a table d'hôte. Be so good as to
take your place."
Olive bent her head cautiously in preparation for passing through the
door, when again the same sharp cry startled her, and lifting her head
suddenly she bumped it against the lintel. The pain of the blow was
rather severe.
"What did you do that for?" she exclaimed angrily. "Why did you scream
out like that? I----" But she said no more. The cry was repeated, and
this time it did its work effectually, for Olive awoke. Awoke--was it
waking?--to find herself all in the dark, stiff and cold, and her head
aching with the bump she had given it against the old tree-trunk, while
farther off now she heard the same shrill hoot or cry of some early
astir night-bird, which had sounded before in her dreams.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" she sobbed, "what shall I do? Where am I? How can I
ever find my way in the dark? I believe it was all a trick of those
nasty blue dwarfs. I don't believe I _was_ dreaming. They must be
spiteful goblins. I wish I had not gone with them to see their village."
And so for some minutes, half asleep and half awake, Olive stayed
crouching by the tree, which seemed her only protector. But by degrees,
as her senses--her common sense particularly--came back to her, she
began to realise that it was worse than useless to sit there crying.
Dark as it was, she must try to find her way back to the little inn,
where, doubtless, Auntie and the others were in the greatest distress
about her, the thought of which nearly made her burst out crying again;
and poor Olive stumbled up to her feet as best she could, fortunately
not forgetting to feel for her book and parasol which were lying beside
her, and slowly and tremblingly made her way on a few steps, hoping that
perhaps if she could manage to get out of the shadow of the trees it
might not be quite so dark farther on. She was not altogether
disappointed. It certainly grew a very little less black, but that it
was a very dark night there was no denying. And, indeed, though it had
not been dark, she would have had the greatest difficulty in finding her
way out of the wood, into which she had so thoughtlessly penetrated.
Terrifying thoughts, too, began to crowd into her mind, though, as I
think I have shown you, she was not at all a timid child. But a forest
on a dark night, and so far away from everywhere--it was enough to shake
her nerves. She hoped and trusted there was no fear of wolves in
summer-time; but bears!--ah! as to bears there was no telling. Even the
hooting cries of the birds which she now and then again heard in the
distance frightened her, and she felt that a bat flapping against her
would send her nearly out of her mind. And after a while she began to
lose heart--it was not quite so dark, but she had not the very least
idea where she was going. She kept bumping and knocking herself against
the trunks; she was evidently not in a path, but wandering farther and
farther among the forest trees. That was about all she could feel sure
of, and after two or three more vain efforts Olive fairly gave up, and,
sinking down on the ground, again burst into tears.
"If I but had a mariner's compass," she thought, her fancy wandering off
to all the stories of lost people she had ever heard of. Then she
further reflected that a compass would do her very little good if it was
too dark to see it, and still more as she had not the slightest idea
whether her road lay north, south, east, or west. "If the stars were
out!" was her next idea; but then, I am ashamed to say, Olive's ideas of
astronomy were limited. She could have perhaps recognised the Plough and
the Pole star, but she could not remember which way they pointed.
Besides, she did not feel quite sure that in Thüringen one would see the
same stars as in England or Paris; and, after all, as there were none
visible, it was no good puzzling about it, only if they _had_ been there
it would not have seemed so lonely. Suddenly--what was that in the
distance? A light, a tiny light, bobbing in and out of sight among the
trees? Could it be a star come out of its way to take pity on her? Much
more likely a Will-o'-the-wisp; for she did not stop to reflect that a
dry pine forest in summer-time is not one of Will-o'-the-wisp's
favourite playgrounds. It was a light, as to that there was no doubt,
and it was coming nearer. Whether she was more frightened or glad Olive
scarcely knew. Still, almost anything was better than to sit there to be
eaten up by bears, or to die of starvation; and she eagerly watched the
light now steadily approaching her, till it came near enough for her to
see that it was a lantern carried by some person not high above the
ground. A boy perhaps; could it be--oh, joyful thought!--could it be
Rex? But no; even if they were all looking for her it was not likely
that they would let Rex be running about alone to get lost too. Still,
it must _be_ a boy, and without waiting to think more Olive called out--
"Oh, please come and help me! I'm lost in the wood!" she cried, thinking
nothing of German or anything but her sore distress.
The lantern moved about undecidedly for a moment or two, then the light
flashed towards her and came still nearer.
"_Ach Gott!_" exclaimed an unfamiliar voice, and Olive, peering
forward, thought for half a second she was again dreaming. He was not,
certainly, dressed in blue, and he was a good deal taller than up to her
knee; but still he was--there was no doubt about it--he was a dwarf! And
another gaze at his queer little figure and bright sparkling eyes told
Olive that it was the very same little man who had smiled at Rex and her
when he saw them leaning out of the inn window that very afternoon.
She didn't feel frightened; he looked so good-natured and so sorry for
her. And somehow Olive's faith in the possible existence of a nation of
dwarfs had received a shock; she was much more inclined to take things
prosaically. But it was very difficult to explain matters. I think the
dwarf at the first moment was more inclined to take _her_ for something
supernatural than she was now to imagine him a brownie or a gnome. For
she was a pretty little girl, with a mass of golden fair hair and
English blue eyes; and with her hat half fallen off, and her cheeks
flushed, she might have sat for a picture of a fairy who had strayed
from her home.
Her German seemed all to go out of her head. But she managed to remember
the name of the village where they had been that afternoon, and a
sudden recollection seemed to come over the dwarf. He poured out a flood
of words and exclamations, amidst which all that Olive could understand
was the name of the village and the words "_verirrt_," "_armes Kind_,"
which she knew meant "lost" and "poor child." Then he went on to tell
that he too was on his way from the same village to somewhere; that he
came by the woods, because it was shorter, and lifting high his lantern,
gave Olive to understand that he could now show her the way.
So off she set under his guidance, and, only fancy! a walk of not more
than ten minutes brought them to the little inn! Olive's wanderings and
straying had, after all, drawn her very near her friends if she had
known it. Poor Auntie and Rex were running about in front of the house
in great distress. Uncle and the landlord and the coachman had set off
with lanterns, and the landlady was trying to persuade Auntie that there
was not _really_ anything to be afraid of; neither bears, nor wolves,
nor evilly-disposed people about: the little young lady had, doubtless,
fallen asleep in the wood with the heat and fatigue of the day; which,
as you know, was a very good guess, though the landlady little imagined
what queer places and people Olive had been visiting in her sleep.
The dwarf was a well-known person thereabouts, and a very harmless,
kindly little man. A present of a couple of marks sent him off to his
cottage near by very happy indeed, and when Uncle returned a few minutes
later to see if the wanderer had been heard of, you can imagine how
thankful he was to find her. It was not so _very_ late after all, not
above half-past ten o'clock, but a thunderstorm which came on not long
after explained the unusual darkness of the cloud-covered sky.
"_What_ a good thing you were safe before the storm came on!" said
Auntie, with a shudder at the thought of the dangers her darling had
escaped. "I will take care never again to carry my jokes too far," she
resolved, when Olive had confided to her the real motive of her
wanderings in the wood. And Olive, for her part, decided that she would
be content with fairies and dwarfs in books and fancy, without trying to
find them in reality.
"Though all the same," she said to herself, "I should have liked to
taste the roast fir-cones. They did smell so good!" "And, Auntie," she
said aloud, "were you singing in the wood on your way home with Uncle
and Rex?"
"Yes," said Auntie, "they begged me to sing 'Home, sweet Home.' Why do
you ask me?"
Olive explained. "So it was _your_ voice I heard when I thought it was
the dwarfs," she said, smiling.
And Auntie gave her still another kiss.
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._
* * * * *
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Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
Page 82, "Forlong" changed to "For long" (For long he had imagined)
Page 133, "delighful" changed to "delightful" (A delightful
business)
Page 147, the first word of Chapter I of LOST ROLLO was formatted
to match the rest of the first words of chapters. This means all
capitals in the text version and small capitals in the html version.
Page 150, word "on" inserted into text (going on nice long)
Page 192, "appearance-sake'" changed to "appearance's-sake" (more
for appearance's-sake)